Intoxication
by Merrybeans
Summary: Friendship, love, lust? What really makes the characters tick? What gets under their skin and refuses to leave them be? CHAPTER EIGHT: Without You I'm Nothing.
1. Song To Say Goodbye

_A/N: These are a few drabbles, close to the 200 word mark. I wrote them a few weeks ago when I wasn't feeling so great. Any more drabbles will be added to this._

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise as Tamora Pierce's.

**A Song To Say Goodbye.**

Gary ignored the wind tugging insistently at his tunic, like he ignored that ache somewhere inside him. It was a traitorous ache.

From his balcony he could see down into the courtyard and could watch the men move around, one man in particular.

His friend was leaving the palace to travel south. It was one goodbye, but it marked other, less physical goodbyes. Times were changing. He had said his own goodbye to his Aunt and Uncle, and he was preparing to say farewell to the cousin he knew. Jon would have to become King now, and leave the man in the shadows.

He knew he would have to adapt too. Gone were the days when jests, border patrols and courting the latest beauty were all he had to think of: he would have to say goodbye to the old him and welcome his new duties.

It wasn't only himself and Jonathan that would be changing. Gary gripped the balustrade until his knuckles showed white as he watched Raoul ride out of the palace gates. He feared how different his friend might be when he returned; he feared how different _he_ might be.

That goodbye- to _that_ friendship- was one he never wanted to make.

--


	2. Protect Me

**Protect Me (From What I Want).**

Arram lay, sheets delicious against his sweat-marked skin, watching her. She moved around the room, picking her way between book piles, mismatched boots, and artefacts he had picked up here and there and discarded. From his relaxed position, head pillowed on one forearm, the other hand draped across his stomach, he took in all as she dressed. It took her a little while to locate her clothes but he made no move to help her.

She glanced his way and scowled when she saw him studying her. Tying the last of her bodice lacings with rather more force than was needed, she stalked to the mirror to rearrange her hair.

Arram watched her slip her earbobs in place and rouge her lips. She had no need to pinch her cheeks, they were flushed enough already.

From the bed, he scowled. This was one lesson he never learnt. He always regretted their reconciliation love-making afterwards; she'd never forget their argument like he'd hope. Then, for days afterwards, he would spend money, time and heartache trying to re-please her. It made him question their relationship.

But during that hot, passionate, anger-spurned embrace, he knew they were meant to be and he adored those few minutes of control.

--


	3. Trying My Best Not To Forget

**Trying My Best Not To Forget.**

After all the years, he still missed her. He had married another woman, and had children by her, but it meant nothing. He loved his wife, but he loved _her_ too- differently. Deep in his heart he knew that things were set in stone, but he still missed the way she used to tell him her secrets, the way she used to look at him, and kiss him, and the way her body had melded into his late at night.

He imagined her sometimes, when he was with his wife. He pictured _her_ body under him, back arched, fingers clinging to his shoulders. He felt her curls, cropped short and not treated with fancy, sweet smelling creams, when he ran his hands through his wife's black hair.

He wanted to forget her, _painfully_ wanted it. He didn't want to live observing her at a distance; he wasn't used to having things kept from him. If he couldn't have her, he didn't _want_ her.

She quite clearly didn't want him anymore. She had grown up, and now there were too many complications. She had left him behind long ago; left him with his wife, with his children, with his people.

Yet the King never stopped missing his Alanna.

--


	4. Blind

**Blind.**

He had never meant for it to be like this.

He ran his hand down the side of the bottle; it came away damp and he gratefully rubbed it over his face. He was hot; feverish with lust for her curves. He didn't _love_ her, not at all. But he _missed_ her, and it hurt.

Mother was on her yearly rant about marriage, again; it was Midwinter, a time for family, new life, celebrations. He looked at the women she presented and they were pretty enough; but he bitterly knew they wouldn't have the same energy Kally had, nor that wicked spirit. He wasn't looking for _love_ in a marriage, but he was a man- he wanted to be able to enjoy going to bed with his wife.

It was silly really; he should never have got involved. He knew all along that he would come off the worst for wear: who could best a princess, especially one such as her?

But how could he resist?

_Oh_, how he missed her searing kisses.

When she had left- when she was sitting on her horse, waiting to go, he had left it _that_ late- he had asked, 'We'll stay friends?'

'Of course, Fal. Write to me.'

_Write to me. _But he could never bring himself to. It would be torture to wait for the reply that would not come. She was an Empress, with a husband. Taking a swig of the rum, he wondered cynically- did Kaddar like all those tricks he had taught Kally?

No, he wouldn't make himself look a fool by writing to her. He could just imagine it now: she would laugh in that pretty way of hers, tossing her head, and discard the letter.

He upended the rum bottle. Completely empty now; he dropped it and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

And what hurt the most was that he was just another lesson to her.

--

_

* * *

_

_A/N: The pairing here is Faleron/Kally, as seen in _Lady Silvamord's_ "Empress Lessons" . And yes, for those who asked, the pairing in number two is Arram(Numair)/Varice._

_This one was slightly longer, but I wanted to get in a number of different things and I couldn't do that in only 200 words. It's a spin-off (in my mind) of chapter four of Shadowed Passions._


	5. And I'll Find No Solace

**And I'll Find No Solace.**

Oh, where had they gone? Where were the birds that used to sing in the morning sky? Where was the sun that used to warm their little feathers?

Where were the colours?

Life was grey and cold and silent; there was no possible point to continue. There was no solace to be found in anything around him- not even his son. _He_ would have all this to learn one day; would he succeed in separating the man from the king and saving himself from all this heartache? Or would he be like his father- the _Peacemaker_- what a _ridiculous_ name. At what cost had his people's peace been?

The colours had been strangled by his tears.

Where were the sounds, the music of life? The buzzing of insects, the chirping of the birds he so loved? The thunder of his horse when hunting, the howling of his hounds?

All murdered by his grief.

And all because of his traitorous nephew.

He never wanted the searing pain to leave. He had failed in his promise to protect her, from none other than their own kinsman and King Roald knew beyond all reason that he should feel this guilt for all of eternity.

He didn't want the memories of her to fade, to become dull, or numb. In his grey world of silence they were the only spark, the only candle- and a candle wasn't enough consolation.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, that's King Roald reflecting on life after Queen Lianne's death. For Ana, who helped with this idea._

_As "_marasydnyjade_" correctly guessed, all the inspiration from these so far has come from **Placebo** lyrics, so delayed disclaimer: the titles of these chapters/drabbles belong to Placebo. _

_Regarding all future reviewers: please respond to my writing in your review; if you wish to discuss my music taste with me then please email me. Thank you._


	6. And Now We're Stuck On Rewind

**And Now We're Stuck On Rewind.**

Visiting Carthak had always been chancy, he had known that, but he had never quite expected this.

He had been ready for Ozorne- as ready as he could be- and was anxiously eager to see his old teacher, Lindhall again. He had long got over missing the country itself, with its impressive climate, creatures, and architecture.

But he had never thought she might be waiting for him, stunning and unmarried as ever. He had forgotten how seductive she could be, how entrancing her perfumes were, how bewitching her kisses could be.

He had blocked out the memories of all the joyful times they had spent together, when they believed they were in love, believed they would be forever. They had been idealistic then, naïve in a way. Ozorne- it was always him- had shattered their innocent lovemaking.

Now, returning, seeing her again, it was different. Nothing had been shattered; it just hung in suspended silence. And they were back in their all-encompassing feelings for each other.

Perhaps he did love her still, in a way. He wouldn't deny that he had been _in_ love with her, those years ago. Now was different. However much he tried to disillusion himself, they couldn't go back to how things were, thanks to Ozorne.

Perhaps if situations were different- if Ozorne didn't insist on killing him, if he wasn't visiting for purely business reasons- perhaps then they could have picked up the suspended relationship and rewound these last years apart.

--

_A/N: Numair/Varice._


	7. Stumble

**Stumble.**

One woman after another. That's always the way it went. Oh, it was a great jest for everyone- apart from the women. _They_- understandably- got upset when he moved on, even though it was quite often _their_ husbands' fault. The husbands didn't think his behaviour was funny, either. In fact, they were decidedly bitter towards him- and often violent.

His friends and comrades thought he picked married ladies by mistake; bad luck. But no, it was carefully done. He couldn't get into as much trouble with them as he could by deflowering an unmarried maiden- or if they were to fall pregnant. A married woman could always pass it off as their husband's, but he doubted anything like that would happen: these noble ladies always wore charms against just that.

Also, he was a Player at heart. He liked the drama, the excitement, the grand stage. The ladies knew what they were doing when they got involved with him.

But above all, it was a cover up. Incredibly insecure, he could never cope with the idea of a committed relationship. He knew he would make a mess of it and hurt her.

And so he loved her from a distance, no strings attached.

--

_A/N: Evin/Miri._


	8. Without You I'm Nothing

**Without You I'm Nothing.**

His hands ran over her skin again. Soft, warm, and pearly white. Her mouth found his once more and he returned her kiss, surprised at her hot passion.

'Oh, Evin,' she murmured, but he didn't respond. Eyes closed, lying on his back, he was far gone. She was astride him, her nightgown hitched high around her thighs. She kept pressing her body against his skin in a feverish need. He let her do as she pleased; he was thinking of another.

He moved with her, his lips burning a trail across her collarbone. Her nails dug into the tight muscles of his shoulders. She was young, this one, but she had spirit. Spirit and fire and passion.

Still, he wouldn't keep her for long; he didn't keep any of them for very long. They wouldn't serve their purpose otherwise.

His body responded to her, and he let it. He would get little pleasure from this tonight. It was a strange infatuation, nothing more. His mind was elsewhere, far away, chasing after another- more elusive- woman.

His best friend.

Evin kissed the young court lady again as their hips ground together. With every movement, every thrust, that woman in his mind slipped further from his reach. He was too unclean for her; but she had no idea of what she was worth to him, what he would do for her.

He smothered his lady's moans with his mouth. He might be Commander and a Player and everything else, but as far as he was concerned, without _her_- without his wonderfully dear friend- he was nothing.

And yet, how odd their relationship was. They were the closest of friends, but he kept his distance from her.

The young lady rolled off him onto her back, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. He still didn't open his eyes, focusing on that image of the woman in his mind. His best friend. He wondered where she was now, what she was doing. She would guess where _he_ was; there were no secrets between them.

And yet, she had never seen the lonely him at all.

---

_A/N: Another Evin/Miri._


	9. Gamble

**A/N:** Slightly different to my other drabbles; written at request from Anya.

**Gamble.  
**

When Ozorne found out that Kalasin had started gambling with the university students, he cut off her allowance. Discovering this, she sought him out angrily, demanding an explanation.

'It is my money to do with as I wish,' was all he would say.

The Empress had stamped her foot. 'It's _my_ money! And _you_ gamble all the time!'

'I never gamble,' he replied flippantly.

'Yes, you do! Just last week you won four gold nobles off Lord Enrak at the card tables, and then there's this whole _gamble_ with the rebels down south and if-'

He had fixed her with his amber gaze then. 'I do not gamble, Kalasin. It is all about probabilities. If I calculate the probabilities to be in my favour, then I play and I take my winnings as is due.' The Emperor rose, using his height to stare down at her.

'But I never gamble, and as my wife, you will not either.'

---


	10. Your Soft Skin Is Weeping

**A/N: **Title from _Set the Fire to the Third Bar_, by 'Snow Patrol'. Fic inspired by Lally's Christmas fic to Kmiri Kalasin – thank you Lally!

**Your Soft Skin Is Weeping.**

The summer had passed and left him cold. The gloom chilled him to his bones; the flowers had all been plucked and now they lay in tatters around his feet. He could not move without disturbing them and the memories of tearing the pretty heads from their stable groundings.

It had come out at last, of course. Faleron was sensible, but he had been intoxicated and had pretended no-one would ever find out.

The Gods obviously had other plans.

For there was no way it could be kept secret any more. Everything had gone wrong. Now, sweet words – ghosts from the summer – mocked him. He had been a fool. Disillusionment had been the key he had played the summer in, and now consequences were echoing in their persistent, low octave.

_He should have known better_, his father had shouted. _What had he been thinking to get involved with her? Her, of all people? _What had he been thinking indeed? He could not even remember how it had all started.

Now, how it had started did not matter. The finale was here, and the consequences were strumming like cello strings.

He really should have seen it coming – but he had not let himself see past her naked form in his bed.

And now she was pregnant.

---

(A/N: Another Kally/Faleron.)


End file.
